


The Hunt, The Hunter, The Hunted.

by dlivius



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Hunter!Stiles, M/M, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 14:56:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dlivius/pseuds/dlivius
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the brutal murder of Sheriff Stilinski at the hands of a werewolf, the Argent's adopt the man's only child and raise him as their own. Stiles is exceptionally bright, and exceptionally driven when he puts his mind to it. Revenge is something he can put his mind too.<br/>He's raised in their house, by their code, and it's on his first hunt that Stiles Argent will prove himself worth the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt, The Hunter, The Hunted.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Renqa (http://theteenagehorror.com/ on tumblr) and posted on my tumblr--  
> I've done some very small edits and decided to repost here.
> 
> Based off this image  
> http://theteenagehorror.com/post/70438032769/sterekism-au-stiles-father-gets-killed-by-a

Stiles has been tracking the same were for a month now; from rural New York all the way to somewhere in South Dakota’s black hills. It’s been a long month now, filled with even longer car rides and NPR lectures. He’s thankful when he were seems to stop for the night at a shady out of town motel. It’s been a long day in the car, and between static and country, the highway has lulled him into a semi-stupor.

Stiles waits a little down and across the street, car engine ticking faintly, as the were pulls in to a spot and rents out a room. He drums his fingers. His body itches with energy, as he watches the shadow of the creature leave the lobby and move towards a room. 

It’s easy enough to get the number. Stiles is smart. He counted room numbers for Uncle Argent long before he received any real hunter training. He can memorize nearly anything within a short amount of time. Something Kate liked to tease him for. She’d call him freak and misplace his meds. Stiles never got it as a kid—but when his Uncle and Grandfather started training him he understood it for what it was. Jealously. Kate was angry Stiles, Stiles who wasn’t an Argent by blood, was told the family secret and trained before Allison. In fact, Allison still didn’t know.

Stiles keys the car on again once the were has been behind the door for a few minutes. He lets it stall as he checks in, and asks for a room across the courtyard and green tinted pool from the one the were came in. It’s easy enough to park the car, and Stiles jogs up the stairs to his second story room. In training, they taught never to get too close to the were’s until you mean to make the final strike. In training they taught you to never sleep close to your target. Stiles is breaking rules, but for good reason. He was sure he’d blown his cover already; two or three hours back at a gas station outside Rapid City.

Stiles throws his duffel on the bed, checks the locks on the door, then flips the television onto the news before heading towards the bathroom. He wants a shower… he needs a shower after three days of ruminating in his own stench in the dinged up old Ford Fiesta. Stiles pulls his shirt over his head, and runs careful fingers over the gun in its holster under his arm. He pulls it out, checks the rounds, and cocks it before laying it carefully on the sink and stripping completely. 

The water is lukewarm against his skin, but still far better than nothing. He showers quickly, using only the bar of soap provided before stepping out and throwing a towel around his waist. He isn’t worried about the were coming after him tonight. He should be, he knows that. This is his first hunt alone, he should be worried about everything. Just because he’s not, doesn’t mean he’s not on his guard. Stiles leaves the bathroom to pull on new boxers and jeans while the TV pours out something about imminent thunder storms and possible sleet. Kate found him this hunt—or rather she found herself it, and Grandpa Argent had turned it over to him. He knows what this is. Knows Grandpa Argent is giving him a chance to prove himself—knows that how he performs will determine how much he gets to participate in Allison’s training. They’re going to tell her this summer.

Stile’s is reclining on the bed, lazily picking at a broken thread in his jeans when the knock at the door comes. His fingers curl around the gun he’d brought to bed with him, and he glances at the undoubtedly double plywood between him, and the wolf. He scowls at himself for being dramatic but pushes off the bed. He answers the door with the gun raised and there’s a startled quality to those hazel… green… eyes that stare at him.

“Hale?” Stiles feels the name stutter up his throat as he stares at the chiseled jawline, scruff, and piercing eyes that stare back at him. There’s no recognition there and Stiles feels his throat close before he can clear it and get out another couple of words. “Derek Hale?”

“Do I know you?” Derek Hale’s voice is rougher, an octave or two lower then Stile’s remembers and he feels his mouth gaping. Uncle Argent would lecture him again, if he saw it.

“My—My father was the Sheriff who responded to the fire…” It’s been years since Stiles has talked about his father, and even longer since the Hale house burned down and a young Derek and Laura wrapped in shock blankets had shared cocoa with Stiles in the back of an ambulance. Years before Stiles knew they were all werewolves… before Laura gutted his father in their own back yard.  
Something of recognition flickers in the were’s eyes before he stamps it out with a gruff growl.

“You smell like an Argent.” The man spits out and Stiles lowers the gun a little, despite best judgment.

“Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski.” He says and the recognition is back, with just a little unease. “The Argent’s took me in after your sister murdered my father.” Stiles feels acid like spit well in his mouth. Derek gives a low growl, and Stiles immediately raises the gun again. Their eyes lock in a heated stare for minutes before Stiles is lowering the gun again and giving a breathy laugh. He lets his eyes fall to the floor and shakes his head.

“Do you still like cinnamon in your hot cocoa?” He asks. He shouldn’t do this, he should just shoot the were and call Uncle Argent. Werewolves aren’t humans, they’re monsters. Derek doesn’t answer and Stiles glances over those stoic features before another laugh bubbles up in his throat. 

“Of course you do, of course…” He shakes his head, lets one hand off the gun to drag through his hair.

“What are you doing?” Derek Hale’s voice really has had quite a drastic improvement in the… what… 10 years since they last saw each other? 

Stiles stares up at him, before rolling his eyes and dismantling his gun. He chucks it on the bed, turns and runs his fingers through his hair again. _Never turn your back on a were. Never show mercy, they won’t give you the same courtesy. Never go after a target if you feel too emotionally compromised._ They’re rules scream in his head, they’re training aches in his bones and the well carved muscles of his body.

“I can’t… I can’t kill you.” Stiles says after a moment, shoulders slumping, and something of a surprise creeping into him as he realizes Derek didn’t take the opportunity to gut him then and there.

“You’ve… you’ve got a two hour head start before I call Uncle Argent and they put someone else on your tail.” Stiles mutters, and starts to turn when a callused finger traces the code scripted in ink on his back.

“Laura didn’t kill your father,” Derek Hale is right there when Stiles turns to look. Derek Hale is resting a warm hand on his back and pinning him with those impossible hazel eyes. Stiles remember how wide and frightened and hopeless they’d looked that night, years before. A child without a family… too uncomfortably similar to Stiles himself.

He wants to laugh at these words, wants to go back on his word and shoot Derek for bringing that up but—but he always knew didn’t he? Knew that they were taking the scenic route from New York to Beacon Hills. Knew that the dark brush of hair he kept seeing was familiar. Knew those claw marks in his father’s chest were to clean cut, to perfect to be claws.

“Why are you telling me this?” Stiles asks, listens to the thundering of his heart in his ears. He knows Derek can hear it. He knows the werewolf can hear the way his breath hitches as those fingers continue tracing the letters on his back.

“I want more than two hours,” Derek’s voice is a low hum and Stiles nearly stiffens. Nearly.

“Are you… telling a joke?” Stiles asks, chokes out a laugh and turns to find those hazel eyes fixed on him, Derek that much closer. 

“Laura was at In-and-Out with me, two towns down. She had an alibi,” Derek’s breath ghosts against Stiles’ lips and he feels the heady swirl in his gut that he’s gotten quite used to. His big bisexual crisis happened years ago. His big werewolf-sexual crisis is apparently about to happen.

Laura had an alibi… Derek too… Peter was a catatonic burn victim and there were no other were’s in Beacon Hills. Who then would have killed his father—who would have had the knowledge to make it look like a werewolf attack, to make Stiles a ward of the state, to force him into a life of vengeful hunting.

“Kate,” The words are barely off Stile’s lips before Derek is pressing in a furious kiss. Stiles’ fingers scramble over the man’s shirt and Derek is shoving him onto the bed.

“-But she hates me,” Stiles gasps, watching as the werewolf pulls his shirt over his head. Derek’s voice and his scruff aren’t the only things that have changed over the years. “She hates that I got trained before Allison,” 

“She hates werewolves more,” Derek growls, kicking off his jeans and crawling over the bed. Stiles can’t think for a moment—a moment in which his eyes fix on the hardened length of Derek beneath his boxer briefs. He can’t remember the last time he had proper sex with… anyone.

“Kate wanted this job,” Stiles gasps as Derek presses him back further, assaults stile’s chest with his mouth. “She was furious when it got turned over to me,” 

“Argent’s covering her tracks,” Derek huffs out against the hunter’s taut stomach. “He knew what she did. I was—” Derek stops there, and Stiles pulls him into a kiss. His body is thrumming white hot, and his mind has long forgone trying to have a conversation. He can’t even be sure if Derek is lying or not, but he doesn’t care as he hums around the man’s tongue and bucks into the hands palming his hard on.

Derek pushes Stile’s pants down roughly and the hunter is quickly squirming against his skin looking for some type of friction and gratification. Derek growls, and nips at the hunter’s jaw when Stiles gives a long moan and rocks against the cotton covering the werewolves erection.

“Come on, give me just a little—” Stiles bites out, clawing at Derek’s back and making keening noises. 

Derek’s own breath tightens at the words, and he starts to, shoving at his boxer briefs. He manages to get them off at the same time Stiles reaches out to grab the werewolf’s dick. Derek gives a sharp growl and Stiles looks to him with a wide smirk, and lust clouded amber eyes. He presses his thumb into the slit and licks his lips as Derek shakes with a shuddering breathy moan. He drops his head into Stiles’ shoulder as the boy manages to get his hand around both their cocks, and pumps with reckless abandon.

“You—” Derek’s breath catches on every down pull of Stiles’ hand and the hunter thinks he loves the sound of it. Thinks he wants nothing more than to make it the new alarm on his phone. “You smell amazing,” Derek chokes out the words through a sob as he presses his face into the hunter’s shoulder.

It doesn’t take long before either of them are shooting their load. Derek’s teeth sinking bluntly into Stiles’ shoulder, and the human laughing through his own. He’s still chuckling when Derek drops, boneless and sedated over him. He runs a hand over the werewolf’s back and closes his eyes. The news still pouring out of the TV as if nothing has happened. As if the earth hasn’t completely shifted on its axis.

“About that head start…” Derek’s voice is rough after his orgasm and Stiles’ pauses in his petting. 

“You headed West?” Stiles cuts off whatever the man is about to say and Derek shifts against him, pulling his head up to look at Stiles’ with burning red eyes. Oh. The hunter strokes those stubbly cheeks. He hadn’t realized, hadn’t really thought hard on it. Of course… of course with Laura dead by Kate’s blade Derek would become the Alpha.

“Annual visit to my Uncle.” Derek whispers and Stiles wonders if he’s considering how much he should trust Stiles. How much he should say. Stiles would be.

“Then after, head east with me,” Stiles tugs the werewolf’s face between his hands. “We’ll go after Kate… and maybe we’ll do this again. This was awesome.” 

Derek stares at him, eyes dying down to their hazel color. 

“We hunt the Argents, Derek breathes it like a question and Stiles just grins.


End file.
